Blood Brothers
by ZebbieCullen
Summary: He held his hand in front of his face and traced the thin, selfinflicted scar across his palm with his finger, picturing a similar mark on his friend's hand.' WillAllan friendship.


_A/N: Not long until the finale! Just a short piece of WillAllan friendship. Unfortunately, Allan, Will and the Gang all belong to the BBC. Enjoy, and please review._

Will Scarlet sighed and tossed some dark hair out of his eyes. The Gang were all snoring lightly around him, but that was not the reason as to why he was still awake. He held his hand in front of his face; his eyes having become accustomed to the darkness long ago. He traced the thin, self-inflicted scar across his palm with his finger. He pictured a similar mark on his friend's hand. Or at least, Will had thought he was his friend. Friends didn't sell each other out to the enemy. Friends didn't betray each other's secrets, especially ones that could kill the King of England. Allan-A-Dale was a Judas. But just like Robin, he wasn't a Jesus. He couldn't forgive.

In a mere fourteen days, the two of them had gone from being best friends to being enemies, fighting on different sides of the law. Will still fought in the name of Robin Hood and stood up for the poor. Allan was working for Gisborne and the Sheriff now. Will hated the Sheriff.

He sat up and ran a hand through his thick hair. He glanced over at his leader. Robin was sprawled out across his bed in a deep sleep. No one would notice if Will left the camp for a while, he'd be back by morning anyway. He pulled the leaver to the door of the camp that he had designed and built, disabling the alarm system and traps as he went. Robin had set up defence mechanisms in case Allan led the Sheriff to their base.

Will pulled his hood up and started to walk through the forest. Eventually, he came to a clearing in the trees. It was the same place he always went when he was feeling sad or had something on his mind. He found the gentle breeze, and the silence, and soft leaves on the ground soothing. He often went there to think about Djaq and what was going on between them, but this time he found his mind casting back to a few weeks ago, back to when he got the scar on his hand.

It had been late one night. He had been laying on the ground looking up at the stars and reflecting on the events that took place earlier that day. Robin had led them all into the castle with the help of Marian and they had robbed the Sheriff of his gold. Just an average day for the outlaws.

He had heard someone slowly walk up behind him and looked up to see Allan smiling down at him. His signature cheeky grin stood out brightly in night.

"Mind if I join you?" he had asked with his hands on his hips in a very care free manor.

Will had shrugged and closed his eyes for a moment. He listened as the leaves moved around him and Allan lay down beside him with his arms above his head, which was resting in his hands. His ankles were crossed and Will sensed a calmness coming from his friend. Allan was always laid back and relaxed. Will didn't know how he did it.

The two of them made pleasant small talk for while before silence came over them. The older man may have been rude and snarky and loud, but he was his friend. He was the one Will was closest to in Robin Hood's Gang, even though they had completely opposite personalities. Allan hated silence and couldn't sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. He always voiced his opinion, even when it wasn't wanted. Will was calm and quite, and would often just sit and think about life. The two balanced each other out and completed them.

"What do you think will happen to us?" Allan asked him. "What King Richard gets back?"

Will thought about it for a moment. "Well, the Sheriff and the Black Knights will be hung for treason, Robin will get his land back and marry Marian. Much will probably get that estate at Bonchurch that Robin promised him, and I don't know what Djaq will do -"

"I meant _us_," Allan interrupted. "You and me."

Again Will thought about it. "I don't know," he admitted. He'd gotton so used to his life as an outlaw; he couldn't picture himself living any differently. The thought of a warm bed in a nice house to sleep in at night felt too simple for him now. He'd gotton used to the sense of adventure and uncertainty that they all lived with and, in a strange way, would miss it.

"We could end up in different parts of the country," he said, pondering the idea and not liking it. "We may never see each other again."

"Do you think Robin will forget about us?"

Will shook his head and felt the corners of his mouth tug into a smile. "No, as soon as he notices how quiet it is, he'll realise you're gone," he joked.

"Funny," Allan replied with his usual sarcasm, giving his friend a playful shove. He would miss Will when the King returned.

An awkward silence came between them again. Allan shifted slightly before sitting up. He reached down to his belt and picked up a small knife, studying the sharp blade. "We should make a promise," he said, sounding distant, his electric blue eyes never leaving the silver point.

Will looked up at him. "What kind of promise?"

"A promise to always be loyal to each other, no matter what happens. To always stand by each others side and defend them. For our friendship to always stay strong," it sounded very uncharacteristic, but Will agreed, thinking that his friend was just showing a different side of himself. He soon found out that was not the case.

Allan avoided his eyes as he used the thin blade to make a small cut just across his palm. Will realised what he was doing and took the knife as it was handed to him, repeating what Allan had just done. They grasped hands firmly, their blood mixing together in a powerful bond that was meant to last until the day they died.

Three days after their promise had been made, Allan was discovered to be the traitor and was thrown out of the Gang. There were no words to describe how Will felt when he found out. Furious or enraged wasn't stong enough. He felt...hurt. He thought he knew Allan, but he was obviously wrong.

At first the scar had symbolised a long lasting friendship between two men. Now, it represented everything he hated and was against. Betrayal, hurt, suffering, deception, and so much more. The Allan he knew was dead to him. In his place was a man who looked like him and spoke like him.

Allan's blood ran through his veins and he knew it would be a long time - if ever - until the scar on his hand faded, but the memories would not. Until then, Will would use it as a way of remembering the Allan he knew. His friend.


End file.
